I'll Promise Anything
by PlainJaneDoe
Summary: John had a lot he needed to get out of his system, and right at that moment in time, Sherlock wanted nothing more than to be the outlet for his rage and frustrations. Slash. Sherlock/John.


**A/N: Hello there :) Rated M for a reason. Reviews welcomed, cuddled, cherished forever and above all, replied to with snogs and flowers ;D There may be typos, for which I apologise unreservedly, I'm just so keen to provide you all with porn... What can I say, I'm a giver.. ;) **

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><p><em>Oh fuck.<em>

Sherlock was not one to swear unless the situation called for it and right now, the situation called for it. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _he thought as he sat in his chair, knees pulled tightly to his chest. He was alone in the flat, completely alone, and he had been alone for some time. John... he didn't know where John was. John could be anywhere, anywhere at all. That was both the problem and the joy of John; that he was unpredictable.

He was unpredictable in that precisely 3 months, 4 days and 7 hours ago, John had sat completely still when Sherlock invaded his space for the last time as a colleague.

They had just returned from Scotland Yard and Sherlock literally couldn't remember the last time he felt quite so elated, and it was all because of _him._ John. John Watson. _Doctor_ John Watson. Doctor John Watson had played his part perfectly, allowing Sherlock to see the light mid case, triggering an epiphany of epic proportions, permitting him to think outside the box and see what he had originally disregarded as irrelevant. With one adoring look at John he had raced out of St Bart's and straight towards the resolution to their case.

3 hours later, they were collapsed alongside each other on the floor of their hallway, legs outstretched in front of them, backs against dusty wallpaper, breathing harshly between shallow laughter. It was at this point, when high on adrenaline, that Sherlock found himself completely unable to tear his eyes away from the army doctor beside him. The way his chest rose and fell and shuddered with each breath and laugh. The way the lines around his eyes deepened when he smiled and thinned when he inhaled. And his eyes... those perfect eyes. This man, this walking font of knowledge, was just too much and not enough all at once. Sherlock was swimming in this new information he'd never noticed before, new sensations in the pit of his stomach and the almost dizzyingly fast beat his heart was thrumming in his ears. He'd never been this close to John before now, never had an opportunity to study John so carefully. He likened this sensation to drugs in that it felt so, _so_ wonderfully perfect, until you go too far, over-indulge, then everything becomes deadly as you lose yourself completely; give in to an ending that is suddenly right in front of you. John was his ending. John would be his undoing, most definitely, and as they sat in the silence of the hallway, silence only disturbed by his ragged and lustful breaths, he overdosed on contemplating John with painful scrutiny.

Whilst Sherlock's head was busy processing everything at a million miles an hour, John had calmed his breathing and noticed the rapid increase in Sherlock's. The Doctor could recognise a panic attack a mile off, but this was different. The symptoms were the same, but Sherlock wasn't panicking, he was being overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with information. It was at this point where John sprung his first surprise by laying a perfect hand on the detectives thigh, a gesture originally intended to sooth, but instead only worsening the mechanics of Sherlock's brain, causing them to fire furiously into overdrive as his eyes studied the gentle expanse of his hands, weathered by the army but restored by the sweet caress of the city in which he now resided permanently. The city he never knew he missed.

It was at this point when Sherlock lost his grip on his self-control for just one second, leaning in quickly to find himself mere millimetres away from one deliciously perfect medial cleft. This fresh distraction allowed Sherlock to fall back into himself, to stop himself from making the biggest mistake of his life. Kissing John would only serve to push him away, push him far away and cause him to lose his best friend, his _only_ friend, the only person who could actually stand to be around him, the only person who found his deductions amazing, not infuriating.

Sherlock had opened his mouth to apologise, but this was when John sprung his second surprise of the evening. John was not the type of man to give up an opportunity, so he grabbed one Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes by the coat lapels and dragged him back out of himself violently; crushing their lips together in a symphony of mutual adoration and lust. In his shock, Sherlock gasped in John's hungry breaths as they explored each other's mouths for the first time.

But that was 3 months, 4 days and 7 hours ago. Since then, their relationship had taken a rather startling, but intensely pleasurable, turn for the better as their whole lives changed.

Now. Now Sherlock was sat alone in his flat waiting for John to return. Because that was all he could do. Wait. Sweet, beautiful, unpredictable John. Out somewhere in the city calming down, wondering the streets, jacket pulled tightly around him, hands stuffed into his pockets, deep in thought and refusing to return home until he was calm. At which point he would enter their flat, make the tea and everything would be forgotten.

_Where are you, I  
>miss you terribly.<br>I'm sorry.  
>SH<em>

Just as Sherlock pressed send and watched the ninth text he'd sent to John that night disappear, there was a resounding bang as the front door slammed against the downstairs wall and then immediately shut again from the force of it. There were feet racing up the stairs, John's feet. John was home. Sherlock literally could not contain himself as emotions swept over him, _anxiety, fear, happiness, relief, love, worry, anger, sadness._ He couldn't keep on top of them all, it was dizzying, yet he somehow managed to shakily pull himself up and stand in wait of John.

Sweet, lovely, beautiful John. Surprising him again. So perfectly unpredictable. He hadn't come back to make tea like nothing had happened. He had come to tackle this head on. Wonderful, gorgeous, BAMF John, of course he did, of course he was going to be unpredictable, of course he...

"You fucking stupid shitty sodding idiot, I fucking hate you," Sherlock experienced a full body shudder, half hurt and half painfully aroused. He opened his mouth to reply, but John wasn't finished. John had, in fact, crossed the room, balling fists up in his shirt, pulling it free from the confines of Sherlock's trousers with the force of it as he shoved him violently up against the wall with such vigour the room shook, "You fucking do that again and I swear to God," and just like that, Sherlock's lips were violently claimed in a bruising kiss that robbed his lungs of air and his mind of coherent thought.

But the kiss ended before it got started as John's hands found their way to Sherlock's face, cupping it tightly as he pressed his forehead hard into the detectives, breathing harshly over his face, his breath cascading over his cheekbones like deliciously breathy waterfalls of pure John.

"I'm sorry..." Sherlock began.

"Shut the fuck up," John murmured, devouring his lips once more, tugging bottom lip between teeth before licking glistening lines along top lip, prizing open lips, tonguing teeth, tongue and gums, possessively, desperately, lovingly.

That night, Sherlock Holmes nearly died. He had put himself deliberately in danger for a pathetic reason and this had driven John pretty close to the edge of insanity. It caused him to storm off in a flying rage the likes of which Sherlock had never seen before and he had left him alone in their flat for hours. Sherlock wanted to tell him off, scold him for leaving him there like that, with nothing, no correspondence, nothing, but he didn't dare. John had a lot he needed to get out of his system, and right at that moment in time, Sherlock wanted nothing more than to be the outlet for his rage and frustrations.

John began methodically undressing Sherlock and Sherlock stood quietly and let him. He let John's nimble doctor's fingers work the buttons of his shirt before sliding it over his shoulders and onto the floor. John made light work of his trousers as they soon fell to pool with the purple on the floor around his ankles. Sherlock trembled as John's affections suddenly became a lot calmer, a lot more affectionate as he slowly dragged his fingers lightly over the planes of Sherlock's chest, over his protruding collarbone, along defined jawline and into rebellious curls.

"You ever pull a stunt like that again, Sherlock," he whispered, "That will be the end, OK? The end of me, the end of you and the end of us, because I will do it, I'll walk away and I won't come back,"

"You will come back, John, don't say that," Sherlock said fiercely, clutching onto the wrists he could see from the corners of his eyes as the grip on his hair tightened and John's lips became a thin line of conflicting emotions, "You can't leave, John, I won't allow it, promise me you will never leave," Sherlock was pleading. He was desperate, but right now, he didn't care, all he cared about was John. John who was perfect in every way, John who was holding onto him tightly, John who was blinking back tears that stung his eyes and threatened to fall at any moment. Sherlock would not allow them to fall, they _**would not**_ fall.

John relaxed his lips from their brutal line to form a slightly more relaxed shape that ghosted over Sherlock's own lips as he spoke, "Promise me you will never pull another stunt like that-," John whispered, "-ever again... And I can promise I will never leave... Unless you break your promise,"

Sherlock's breathing was faltering as he spoke but he looked deep into John's hurt eyes as he spoke, "I promise, God, John, I'll promise you anything, anything at all,"

John studied the gray eyes in front of him carefully before leaning in and kissing Sherlock in earnest, finally pulling off his own coat awkwardly, still damp from the rain outside, without once releasing the detective's mouth, "You are absolutely, utterly, brilliantly infuriating, do you know that?" he breathed finally.

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply but the words died on his lips as John took control of his mouth once more, sliding doctor's hands over his shoulders and over his arms, across as yet untouched skin that turned to gooseflesh in under his touch. John slowly turned his attentions to Sherlock's jaw, then the soft skin behind his ear, then gradually, he languidly made his way down his throat, kissing and biting softly, treating him like forgotten treasures too delicate to touch in case they shatter.

"John," Sherlock murmured as John lavished attention on his collarbone, licking glistening stripes along their protruding lines before nipping at the hollow in the middle, "John, please," Sherlock tangled his fingers in John's hair and pulled him up to face him, "Stop it, I deserve to be punished, not treasured, you know it, I know it, you're not going to break me and I know you're still angry with me, even if you think you're not, so let it out,"

John looked at Sherlock deeply before placing his hands firmly on his hips, wrapping fingers tightly over hip bones jutting out just above silk boxer shorts. John's mind was racing; Sherlock could see it, read it even, read his every fleeting thought as it danced behind his eyes. Finally, after long moments, he nodded, quickly pulling away to undo the buttons on his shirt. Just as well, Sherlock thought, John was wearing far too much right now in comparison to him anyway. He leaned forward off the wall to help but his hands were quickly pushed away.

"No," John said firmly, rousing a solid twitch from Sherlock's sex, "You want me to let it all go then fine, but we're going to do it my way,"

John unbuttoned the last button on his shirt before sliding it off his shoulders and tossing it into an unknown corner of their flat. He pushed himself hard back up against Sherlock, forcing him back against the wall once more. The heat from John's chest coursed through Sherlock's as his heart rate began to rise steadily. He could hear it thrumming in his chest in time with John's as his knees buckled and he sunk down the wall a couple of inches, bringing him in line with John's perfect eyes... _John... John has such nice eyes; they're like little pools of_...

"Turn around," John said quietly, cutting his train of thought short. Sherlock contemplated John for a moment before slowly turning, letting his forehead fall forward and rest on the wall whilst he waited in anticipation of what John was going to do next.

And what John did next was so perfectly, unpredictably, wonderfully, unadulteratedly... well, John, that Sherlock could literally feel his heart swell in delight. Sherlock heard a soft thunk as John sunk to his knees behind him, first pulling sink boxes leisurely down his limbs before tracing his fingers along the hollows of Sherlock's knees, up his thighs, stopping to push them a little further apart, before finally coming to rest at the curve of his arse, teasing thumbs achingly close to the place Sherlock was aching to be touched the most. His breath caught in his throat as he felt John's warm breath cascade over him.

Sherlock exhaled harshly into the wall as he felt John's lips ghost over him before biting down hard on his left cheek. He flinched hard into John's mouth in surprise, but this only served to push John closer to his destination as he released his teeth and ran a tongue teasingly close to Sherlock's entrance, inducing a full body convulsion from the detective.

John chuckled over his skin before firmly stroking his tongue along Sherlock's hole, "Aahh, John, John, John," Sherlock garbled.

"What, what, what?" he replied, slowly stroking his cheek along Sherlock's, stopping to nip hard at the space where his arse meets his thigh and revelling in the groan it provoked before Sherlock spoke again.

"You are torturing me," he said breathlessly into the wall.

John smiled as he stood back up again fully, slinking his thumbs into the waistband of his own shorts, "Yes, I had noticed,"

"John..." Sherlock began, knowing full well where John's fingers had now found themselves and shivering with frustration at not being able to see it for himself.

"Quiet," John murmured before pulling his cotton boxers down in one smooth stroke, releasing himself finally to the cool air that surrounded them. He stepped forward and stroked a hand down Sherlock's side, "You are so fucking beautiful," his voice was barely a whisper as he spoke but Sherlock heard it loud and clear.

John pushed Sherlock so that he was flat against the wall, his mouth just above Sherlock's shoulder as he pressed his length hard to the curve of his arse, "John..." Sherlock tried again, only to be shushed.

"Wait here," he said, pulling away to venture for lubricant, only to feel a hand gripping tightly at his wrist.

"No, no, don't worry about that," Sherlock said dismissively between lustful breaths before he slowly slid two of John's fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the familiar digits and sucking away the taste of the rain and all other evidence that John had left him, albeit temporarily.

"Oh fuck..." John murmured, feeling his cock twitch hard as he waited for Sherlock to release him from the warmth of his mouth

The moment he did, he pressed a light kiss to the back of Sherlock's neck before tracing his saliva slick fingers down his spine to his entrance, pressing one finger close to his destination and listening intently to the desperate pants that were coming out in barely suppressed gasps from his counterpart in front of him. John chose his moment wisely and as he pushed his first finger in he bit down hard on Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock cried out in a sound that vaguely resembled John's name as the pleasure and pain swirled together and caused his surroundings to go hazy. He let his eyes fall closed as John's tongue swept over the indentations his teeth had made whilst brushing a finger lightly over his prostate. Sherlock scrambled for purchase on the wall as he attempted to calm his breathing. It was definitely very unfair that John that this kind of effect on him, they'd barely even started and he was a quivering, gibbering wreck.

John switched shoulders, this time pressing his lips against fresh skin as he positioned his second finger. Sherlock had anticipated this, he knew what was coming but he still couldn't suppress the wail that escaped him. John bit down harder than before as he pushed his second finger deep inside him before pulling both almost all the way out for a short moment and then plunging back in deeper than before.

"Oh God," Sherlock groaned as he began to shift his hips in time with John's ministrations. On every third stroke, John would scissor his fingers, deliberately brushing over the neglected spot inside of him causing Sherlock to hiss in breaths every time. John could have got off just doing this, but he would never admit to it. He refused to even admit it aloud in his head. Instead he lavished Sherlock's neck and shoulders with his mouths affections whilst pushing into him faster with his fingers.

He'd just managed a third when Sherlock's hand flew away from the wall, leaving a hand shaped sheen of sweat in its wake, to grab at John's wrist, forcing him to stop, "John, please,"

"What do you want?" John said softly into Sherlock's ear.

"You know what I want..." Sherlock gasped as John moved his fingers, still deep inside him.

"Well, I want to hear you say it," John's voice was level and calm but his heart was racing at 100mph in anticipation of the greatest aural aphrodisiac Sherlock could ever provide him with.

"I want you to fuck me," Sherlock mumbled breathlessly into the wall.

"Didn't quite catch that," John said with another twitch of his fingers.

"Ahh, fuck, John, please, I want you to own me, possess me, fuck me senseless, please, anything, anything at all, just get in me,"

John inhaled sharply. That was the ticket. That was all it took for his blood to be replaced with a potent combination of fire and electricity as every muscle quivered with lust. He quickly removed his fingers and grabbed hold of Sherlock's hips, bringing them away from the wall giving him a better angle. Sherlock placed his hands in their previous position as if bracing himself for what was to come, _probably a good idea_, John thought as he took his cock in hand and lined himself up. Sherlock gave a quiet groan as he felt the head of John's dick tease close to his entrance as John smoothed the palm of his hand up and down Sherlock's side as if to sooth him. On his final stroke downward, he took Sherlock's hips back in hand and pushed hard into him, stopping just as he was about half way buried into the detective.

Sherlock's fingers twitched and scratched against the wall as John sucked in gasping breaths, his eyes fluttering closed. _Dear lord,_ how did it continue to mesmerise him every time he did this. Every time there was a pang in his heart that wondered if this time could possibly top the last time they had had sex, and every time it did. _Every. Single. Time._

"Fuck," John whispered as he slowly began to push himself in further and further until the bones of his hips found themselves pressing against Sherlock's arse, "Are you alright?" he said, not without difficulty, as every breath seemed to hitch in his throat before rushing out in huffs as the heat of Sherlock's body twitched and relaxed around him.

"Yes, yes, please, just move," Sherlock gasped, his whole body quivering as John leaned to plant kisses between his shoulder blades. He slipped a hand up Sherlock's arm to lace his fingers with his against the wall as he slowly drew out and thrust hard back in, inducing a synchronised groan of pleasure from the pair of them, "Oh God, yes, there," Sherlock mumbled.

John recognised this, Sherlock became vocal when he was starting to come undone, and John was desperately looking forward to taking him apart, piece by piece, leaving him flushed and spent and completely and utterly shagged.

John began his rhythm with a short snap of his hips. Tonight wasn't the time for build up; he wasn't in the mood to start slow. Sherlock was right, the bloody know-all bastard. As much as John had tried to convince himself otherwise, behind his searing relief at the fact that Sherlock Holmes had once again come out of a close call unscathed, there was a steady smouldering rage that had only been marginally dampened the second he set eyes on his lunatic standing in their Living Room looked sheepish and broken hearted.

He loved this man, this writhing wreck below him as he began to snap his hips back and forth with renewed mirth. He loved every insane bone in his body, but when Sherlock put those bones at risk, something inside John Watson couldn't help but tie itself in knots. John Watson would run the length of the city he lived in without stopping once if it meant he could protect Sherlock from serious harm, and tonight he pretty much did, but with every thrust, with every moan, with every jolt of electricity that shivered its way up and down his spine, the images seemed to dull and darken, becoming less painful, less clear and less heart-breaking. He was doing what Sherlock Holmes had mastered years ago; he was deleting it.

His grip on the detective's hips tightened as he thrust harder and harder towards his release. Sherlock's occasional whimpers had turned into continuous groans of pleasure as John continued to hit the spot inside him that made his knees week and his thighs tremble and an aching heat roll around in the very pit of his stomach.

Sherlock's free hand slowly slid down the wall as he took himself in hand. He had begun a steady, continuous chant of _John, John, John, John_ as he found himself getting nearer and nearer to his release and it was driving John insane with arousal. He immediately loosened his grip on Sherlock's hip, he had to touch him; he had to touch him right now.

Making sure to keep his rhythm, he placed his hand on Sherlock's, tightening his grip on himself and quickening the pace he had set. Sherlock's _John_'s were becoming louder and louder, as John found himself unable to contain the moans he'd been doing so well to repress since this whole thing started up.

John knew when Sherlock peaked, knew probably before Sherlock did, he could feel him begin to tighten around him, feel his muscles go stiff, could even sense the very slight change in the tone of his voice as he whimpered and gasped his name. So John angled his hips just right and with 3 direct hits Sherlock's entire body tensed and convulsed under him until he was coming over their hands. The feeling of Sherlock's wet heat was the last thing John remembered before his vision went white and he saw stars.

Eventually, John slowed his movements and froze his hips completely, allowing his head to fall forward to rest between Sherlock's shoulders as his he tried in vain to steal gasping breaths from Sherlock's damp skin.

"Holy fucking hell," he managed finally before unlinking his hands from Sherlock's, who had been holding onto him so hard his fingers had turned a violent shade of red. He felt the rush of cold as he pealed himself away and stumbled slightly as the feeling came rushing back to his legs. Sherlock managed to turn himself around with his back against the wall, but his knees quickly buckled resulting in him sliding down until he was a limp boneless mess on the ground.

John laughed breathlessly to himself as he rubbed a palm hard over his face before seating himself down next to Sherlock who immediately rested his head on John's shoulder with a satisfied sigh.

They remained like that for long moments until Sherlock finally broke the silence, "I'm sorry,"

"Hm?" John breathed, still in a blissful post-coital haze.

"I'm sorry..." he began, "For today and..."

"Hey," John said, shuffling onto his side, causing Sherlock to begrudgingly rearrange himself so that his cheek was resting against the wall facing John, "Don't say another word," John stroked his palm along Sherlock's face, feeling him unconsciously relax into his touch, "Just don't do it again,"

Sherlock smiled; a genuine, rare and beautifully Sherlock smile that was the final achingly lovely memory John needed to successfully delete the last remaining glimmer of... of... well he really couldn't quite remember now...


End file.
